Chapter 15 – Alexis
15
How Not to Diffuse a Situation
Alexis
I DO A spin as I look myself over in the full-length mirror propped up in the corner of my bedroom. After sifting through the contents of my closet, I decided to wear the flowy black and gold romper I picked up at an after Christmas sale. Is it a little light for January? Possibly. But I’m willing to suffer so I can use it as an excuse to go the heck home when my social battery flatlines.
I’m usually the first to dip out, but I try to have a reason. It might not always be a good reason, but it makes me feel less bad about not being able to last as long as everyone else in a loud, crowded bar.
I peer over one shoulder and frown, scowling at the pantylines peeking through the delicate fabric. I could wrestle on some shapewear, but fighting a romper when I have to pee is bad enough. I don’t want to add the evils of spandex into the equation.
“Welp. Guess you’ve got to go.” I strip down, dropping the garment to the floor before kicking away my panties and pulling the fluttering fabric back into place. Then I do another spin, making sure all my bits and pieces will remain under wraps if I bend over. Thankfully, it appears—barring any high-kicks—no one will get a glimpse of my nethers.
After smoothing down my hair and double checking my lip gloss, I grab my bag and shoes and make for the door, hustling through the high-ceilinged space because—shocker—I’m running late.
After pausing at the door to slip on a pair of strappy, thick-heeled, black pumps, I duck out into the hall and book it to the elevator. It’s on the floor under mine, so soon I’m outside, rushing to my car.
We’re meeting at a tiny spot in downtown Sweet Side not far from the office building where I work, so it’s a short drive. Just long enough to give me time to wish I was in my sweatpants on my couch, eating pasta while watching Netflix. Which is still not as much fun as other things I’ve done on my couch, but stupid Gavin had to go and be an idiot and screw all that up for me.
When I reach the bar, I nearly groan at how full the lot behind it is. Again, I consider turning around and going home, but my friends would kill me. And I don’t necessarily want to do all the work it would take to find new ones. After circling the lot, I finally get lucky and someone leaves. I tuck my small, white crossover into the spot, then get out, adjust my romper, and head for the door.
The noise of the bar hits me like a wall as I walk inside. It’s overwhelming and has me wishing I called an Uber so I could get drunk enough not to care about the way it grates on my nerves. But without my car, I’m at someone else’s mercy, and that’s not an enjoyable spot for me to be. I like knowing I can leave whenever I want. That my escape is close by. It helps take the edge off.
Isla waves at me from across the room, flagging me down with exaggerated movements–like I might miss the flaming redhead yelling my name. I flash her a smile and return her wave so she stops pulling everyone’s attention to the group of single women circling the high-top. As much as I don’t love being in a noisy bar, I love it even less when I’m sitting around while my friends get hit on by everything with a heartbeat.
And frequently an insane amount of audacity.
Hooking one foot onto the stool’s rung, I hoist myself into the only vacant seat as everyone tells me how great I look and I return the favor. Even though we’re all very different, my friend group is an attractive one. Besides Isla and her long, attention grabbing, wavy red hair, there’s Wren who is tall and willowy with a sleek black bob. Lola is warm and sweet with lush curves and dark curls. And Hazel’s blonde hair and thick-rimmed glasses make men trip over each other, hoping for a chance with the hot chemist.
Then there’s me. I’m just as cute as my friends, but my facial expressions make me look either half-ready to stab anyone who gets close, or half-ready to walk out the door. They don’t necessarily lie, but I wish they would a little so I could be the one getting hit on now and then.
“How was work?” Lola leans across the table, nose scrunching with distaste. “Has Dillon tried to get you to go out with him again?”
I blow out a breath, slumping back in my seat at the reminder of how stupid I can be when it comes to men. “Ugh.” The waitress comes to bring everyone else their drinks and I place an order of my own, buying myself a little time before I have to tackle that conversation. “I don’t know what possessed me to go out with him in the first place.”
“He can be kind of charming when he wants to be.” Wren lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “And lots of happy couples meet at work.”
That had been my very same reasoning. Since I don’t go out unless I have to, and dating apps make me want to throw up in my mouth, my opportunities for meeting a man are slim to none. I decided to give Dillon a shot, assuming he’d be able to keep it professional if things didn’t work out.
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
My drink arrives and I check my watch before taking a long sip so I know exactly when I drank and exactly when I can leave. “What about you guys? How were your holidays?”
For the next half hour, my friends go around the table, lamenting the good and bad of holidays as single women. Lola’s mother lectured her about her desire for grandchildren. Isla got stuck managing her siblings’ spawn while their parents partied it up. Wren faced a formal dinner where she was the only person without a plus one. And Hazel—an only child—suffered through a nearly silent frozen lasagna dinner with her researcher parents. Personally, that sounds like heaven. Well, outside of the shitty food.
We’re just starting to discuss the state of our careers when the first suitor of the night sidles up to the table, wedging himself between me and Isla. He tries to claim more space, but I refuse to budge, glaring at him as he flashes a smile around the table. “Ladies.”
The guy is decently good-looking and has a nice set of teeth, but his whole approach irks me. I always say I wish more men hit on me, but this is a perfect example of why they don’t. While my friends’ expressions are pleasant and friendly, I’m scowling. I know I should try to fix my face, but I’m annoyed, and trying to smile only makes my nostrils flare more.
Which is why I nearly fall out of my seat when he turns to me, zeroing in as he holds out one hand. “I’m Tanner.”
“Uhh.” I blink, shocked and a little concerned. What does it say about this guy that I’m the one he decided on? That out of all the smiling girls at the table, he picked the one who looks most likely to punch him in the throat?
“This is Alexis.” Isla speaks for me since I’m still gaping at him like a fish. “And she really likes margaritas.”
If Tanner was paying attention, he’d notice my whiskey sour is not a margarita, but he doesn’t even check. Just lifts one hand and orders ‘me’ a margarita. He doesn’t bother to ask if I want a drink—I don’t—and then he makes another attempt to claim more space, this time using his elbow to shove mine off the table so he can creep into my personal bubble even more. “It’s nice to meet you, Alexis.”
Is it though? “Okay.”
“Are you from Sweet Side?” he asks, watching me intently over the rim of his glass.
“Uh-huh.” My eyes dart to my friends, bouncing around as they each motion for me to keep talking. “What about you?”
“I actually just moved here a month ago for my job.” He then goes into a fifteen-minute monologue about himself. Anytime I—or one of my friends—tries to get a word in, he gets louder, talking over us. He’s so focused on himself, the guy doesn’t even notice that Isla snaps up the margarita when it arrives and starts chugging it down. Probably to take the edge off the torture of his presence.
Finally, I’m over it. When he pauses to take a breath, I hold up one hand. “I’m going to stop you right there, Tanner, and let you know I’m really not interested.”
His eyes widen. Like he’s never heard those words strung together before. “But I bought you a drink.”
“And I listened to you talk about yourself for fifteen minutes.” I lean forward, lowering my voice a little. Like I’m talking to a five-year-old. “I think we’re even.”
He scoffs, looking fully affronted. “You aren’t even hot anyway.”
Lola gasps and I can see Isla picking up her empty margarita glass out of the corner of my eye. My friends are really sweet women. To a point. We’re all a little overprotective of each other, and I know Tanner’s about two seconds away from getting a tumbler to his temple, so instead of giving him the tongue lashing he deserves, I try to diffuse the situation. “I’m hotter than your mom.”
So maybe my diffusing technique could use some work.
Tanner’s mommy must be a touchy subject, because his face starts to get red and his eyes bulge out a little. “Little bitch. My mother’s a saint.”
I’m about to tell Tanner I’m sure that’s true since she puts up with an asshat like him, but before I get another word out, a huge hand clamps down on Tan-the-Man’s shoulder, jerking him away from me.
All the air freezes in my lungs as I look up, eyes stopping on the long-haired rugby player giving Mr. Personality an easy smile. “You probably shouldn’t tell women you’re a little bitch right out of the gate. Let them figure it out themselves.” Gavin pivots, his hold on Tanner staying tight as he switches their positions, putting his giant body between me and the reason I no longer want to get hit on. “And, for the record, she is hotter than your mom.” Gavin gives Tanner a shove, sending the smaller man stumbling back. Then he turns to the table, draping one muscled arm across the back of my chair as he greets my friends. “You guys having a good night?”
I swear Hazel sighs, a stupid smile on her face as she stares up at my brother’s best friend. “It’s way better now.”
Isla beams at him. “You are like a big, bearded, knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”
Good god. The man doesn’t need anyone else trying to inflate his ego. There’s enough people doing it already. It’s actually a miracle Gavin isn’t completely full of himself.
Even if it appears a few of my friends wouldn’t mind being full of him…
“You guys remember Leo’s friend Gavin.” I say it loud, trying to pull their attention my way. “He was just leaving.” I appreciate him dealing with Tanner the Twat, but I’m irritated at the way he seems to think I’ll just forget what a buttface he was the last time we saw each other.
I’m also irritated at the way my friends are staring at him. Like he’s some sort of deity they would love to worship.
“ No .” Isla grabs one of his hands. “Stay.”
My eyes snap to where she’s touching him. “I’m sure Gavin is here with someone else and—”
“I can stay.” Gavin carefully pulls his hand from Isla’s, using it to snag a chair from behind us. He settles it in the spot Tanner just occupied. But while Gavin’s hulking frame takes up way more space than the other man did, his presence feels so much less invasive, even if I’m considering kicking him under the table.
He settles into the seat, adjusting his big body in a way that brings him even closer to me. So close, the thickness of his thigh presses tight to mine, baking it with warmth through the fabric of his jeans.
I’m wiggling in my seat, caught between liking the feel of all that hard muscle and knowing I should not enjoy having any part of Gavin pressed against any part of me, when I notice his thigh isn’t the only place we’re touching. The arm he draped over the back of my chair is still there, heavy and solid across my back, resting in a way no amount of rearranging my position will rectify.
And then his thumb slowly starts to drag across the bare skin of my bicep, making lazy passes as he carries on a conversation with my friends.
As if this is a completely normal situation.
As if he doesn’t realize I’m already plotting ways to get away from him before I do something stupid. Like forget what a jerk he was on Christmas.